Chapter 25
Thought of the day…
There’s an old adage that says misery loves company.
That’s bullshit.
Misery loves comfort food, binge-watching mindless TV, crying intermittently, then pretending you’re going to be fine.
You will be fine, but not for a long, long, long (fucking) time.
I was a walking cliché after I returned from Aetheria. The human version of a cautionary tale. Everything I told my followers to avoid doing, I did.
Wallowing, running through conversations in my head over and over, pining, replaying the sex blow-by-blow, second-guessing my decisions, second-guessing my emotions, second-guessing everything Tommy had ever said and done, indulging future memories that would never happen, more wallowing, more pining, wallowing and pining together…
And what would you even call that? Walling? Pillowing? They sound like sexual positions.
Sorry – I digress…
More than a week passed of me sleepwalking through life.
I showed up at work, meaning my body was present, but my mind and spirit were elsewhere – such as the coal cellar or the box room or the cupboard under the stairs.
Metaphorically speaking, of course. It wasn’t like Claude locked me away for being a miserable git – no matter how much she might have wanted to.
In stark contrast to my zombie-like demeanour, I started dressing like an eccentric, scrounging items from the back of my wardrobe and appearing each morning like Vivienne Westwood crossed with Willy Wonka – and a bit of Elmo tossed in for good measure.
Though, to be fair, it was an adorable fluffy red shrug.
One morning, I wandered into HQ barefoot, wearing shortie pyjamas printed with ducks. And not regular ducks – rubber ducks and each one was in costume. I have no idea where they came from – the pyjamas, not the ducks.
Claude took one look at me, spun me around by my shoulders, and smacked my arse, telling me, ‘Get upstairs and take a shower.’
She had a point. It had been two days since I’d bathed, and I was starting to smell a bit ripe.
I returned to HQ thirty minutes later, smelling as if Jo Malone herself had gorged on an entire patisserie.
But at least I was dressed (semi-)normally in bright-orange wide-leg trousers, a cropped purple tank top, and fuchsia Converse high-tops.
‘You should see this,’ Claude said as I sat at my desk and stared at a black screen. She reached across and pressed the on button and my laptop leapt to life.
‘Hmm?’ I asked, tearing my eyes from the screensaver – a photograph of one of the towns in the Cinque Terra. Vernazza was my guess.
‘This,’ she said, reaching across me again – this time to manoeuvre the mouse.
I looked back at the screen and my inbox appeared. Claude clicked on an email and it populated the screen. I’m Super Famous, I Want Out! blared from the subject line.
‘No,’ I said, as decisive as I have ever been. I slammed the laptop shut to punctuate my point.
‘Why not?’ Claude asked, propping her arse on the edge of my desk.
‘A thousand reasons,’ I replied – hardly my best effort, but I wasn’t hyperbolising. I was positive I could list at least a thousand reasons why going on a reality show was a terrible idea.
‘Name one.’
‘Okay – bugs. Bugs the size of a Mini Cooper,’ I replied smugly.
‘Eh,’ she uttered with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘They have mosquito nets for those.’
‘Okay, how about not subjecting myself to an array of indignities for no good reason?’
‘But there is a good reason – multiple reasons, actually.’
I scrutinised my sister closely, noticing the faint blueish hue under her eyes. Like me, Claude had access to some of the best skincare products in the world. The dark circles were stress.
‘Tell me,’ I said, my self-indulgent fugue instantly lifting.
‘Well, on top of the winnings going to charity, it’s the photo… the one with Julian,’ she replied.
I sat back and swivelled my chair to face her dead on. ‘But I thought we handled that? Didn’t we replace the followers we lost? Tenfold.’
‘We did, but more than half bounced off within a few days.’
‘Oh. Are we in trouble?’
‘We’re not haemorrhaging followers, no,’ she replied, ‘but…’ She looked over her shoulder and I tipped sideways to see what she was looking at.
Maya and Ruby were obviously listening in.
Caught out, they startled in surprise, then pretended to get on with something.
Ruby even reached for a non-ringing phone.
‘But,’ Claude continued, turning back to me, ‘we could still use the publicity – build up engagement… reach a new follower base… At least say you’ll consider it.’
‘I’ll consider it,’ I lied.
No fucking way am I ever doing that. I’d rather eat mashed banana off the floor of the men’s loo at St Pancras.
She flashed me a grateful smile, and guilt piled on top of dread. I knew Claude and there was a strong chance she’d talk me into this. Well, if she was so keen, maybe she should go on the bloody sho—
‘Ally?’ Ruby’s voice cut through my mental rant, and I lifted my head, giving her an inquisitive smile.
‘What’s up, Ruby-Doo?’ I asked. Another post-Aetheria affectation – giving the team stupid nicknames.
‘Er…’ She looked towards the doorway and I followed her gaze.
‘Fuck,’ I whispered when I saw who was standing there.
‘Right, Ruby, Maya, let’s step out for some lunch, shall we?’ said Claude with OTT enthusiasm.
Maya popped up, collecting her handbag from her bottom drawer, but Ruby gaped at Claude like a goldfish. ‘But it’s only 10.30,’ she said, clearly confused.
‘Early lunch then – my treat,’ Claude replied, signalling for Ruby to hurry. She finally seemed to twig, jumping up from her chair and following Claude.
Claude patted Tommy’s arm as she passed.
It was a small gesture, but it meant the world – telling me and Tommy that she was happy to see him.
Maya scurried into the entry, barely giving Tommy a glance, but Ruby took her time, openly ogling him.
Claude must have filled them in earlier – possibly to explain why I was behaving so oddly – because once Ruby reached the entry, she looked back and gave me a silent chef’s kiss.
I glanced at Tommy, who was watching the others over his shoulder, seemingly bemused by their sudden exit. He absolutely was a chef’s kiss of a man – especially in that crisp, white collared shirt and dark-wash jeans. But what the hell was he doing at Divorced Diva HQ?
He turned towards me, still lingering in the doorway. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ I replied, sitting up straighter but remaining behind my desk – a safety barrier of sorts.
He looked around, taking in the high ceilings, the warm light streaming in the windows, the long wall of honour hung with framed accolades and photographs.
‘Quite the set-up,’ he said with an admiring nod.
‘Thank you,’ I replied, allowing myself a moment of pride.
Seeing HQ through Tommy’s eyes was a pinch-me moment, a reminder of how much we’d accomplished in a relatively short time – a far cry from when it was just me and an Instagram account.
Only Claude seemed to think we should be doing more – something to worry about later, when my one true love wasn’t standing in the middle of our office.
He wandered over to the wall, peering at the commendation we’d received from the Lord Mayor of London for our work with a women’s shelter.
‘This is incredible, Ally,’ he said, his eyes coming back to me. ‘I had no idea—’
‘That it wasn’t all lipstick and sex positivity?’ I asked, raising my brows impishly.
Banter was so much easier than giving my heart a look-in, especially with it hammering in my chest and screaming at me to run away.
Tommy gave me a self-deprecating smile. ‘Touché.’
The screaming eased off a little, Tommy’s easy good humour a potent foil for my internal disquiet.
‘I don’t suppose you get that sort of acknowledgement in your line of work?’ I asked, genuinely curious.
He perched on the edge of Maya’s desk and folded his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt. Very distracting.
‘Er, no. Nothing like that – usually just some vague headline about something mildly significant happening someplace no one’s ever heard of.’
I nodded. ‘Like a tiny resort island in the Aegean Sea.’
‘Exactly.’
Why are you here? Why are you here? Why are you here?
‘You’re probably wondering why I’m here,’ he said. Now I was the goldfish.
‘How do you keep doing that?’ I asked. ‘Reading my mind?’
‘It’s not mindreading. At least, not this time,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘It’s just what I would be wondering.’
‘Oh, so, what are you doing here then? Are you on assignment?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I, er… I took a leave of absence.’
‘Oh,’ I said, my eyes wide with surprise.
‘Yes. It’s been back-to-back assignments for some time now and… well… I needed a break.’
‘A break,’ I repeated – not a question, just affirming that’s what he’d said. But what the hell did that mean? Was he talking about a long weekend? A month? A year?
And there was something else bothering me. ‘So, what did Trudy say about that? Isn’t she your boss?’
‘Sorry? Oh, no. She just led the Kovalec assignment, but I doubt we’ll work together again. It’s a large network.’
‘Ah – so same for Elsa?’
‘Yes.’ I perked up at his reply and Tommy gave me a knowing smile. ‘I know you didn’t like her.’
‘Well, no. But to be fair, I did spend the first few days thinking she was your girlfriend. She could have been the loveliest person in the world, and I still wouldn’t have warmed to her.’
Ordinarily I wouldn’t have been so forthright, airing my jealousy like that, but I’d already laid the rest of my cards on the table back in Greece.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, giving nothing away.
‘It was her, wasn’t it, who vetted me?’ I asked. ‘Only she didn’t go back far enough – she didn’t find the connection to you.’
‘How did you know?’ he asked, his eyes curious.
‘Just something Trudy said – and that you were genuinely surprised to see me.’
‘I was. And pleased.’
I laughed. ‘You didn’t seem pleased. If I recall, you were adamant that I leave.’
‘Well, that wasn’t me per se. I promise, I was very glad to see you, Ally.’
My eyes lingered on his as I tried to decipher what he meant, emotions battling inside me.
Hope was prodding me to get out of my chair and go to him. But fear was stronger – hurt as well – both weighing me down like anchors. So, I stayed put. And silent. This was Tommy’s show – whatever line in the script came next, it was his.
‘God, I really thought this would be easier,’ he said, which did nothing to break the rising tension, only added to it.
My heartbeat pulsed loudly in my ears, and I swallowed the enormous lump in my throat. Was this worse than never seeing him again? It felt worse. And I started wishing, more than anything, that he would just go.
Then he pushed off Maya’s desk and crossed the room in three long strides. Kneeling before me, he took both my hands in his, sending a forceful current rocketing through me.
‘Ally, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this – I can’t spend the next decade, or the one after that, or the one after that making the same stupid bloody mistake I made when I let you go.’
‘What?’ I whispered, my mind racing to catch up.
‘I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you dancing on that table at the Turf Tavern.’
‘Britney Spears – “Womaniser”,’ I said, the memory flooding back.
‘Yep. You only knew half the words but that didn’t stop you from belting out the whole bloody song.
You were fearless and beautiful and when I finally struck up the nerve to talk to you – which was a least an hour later – I discovered that you were warm and funny and so fucking clever about pretty much everything that I felt like a right numpty next to you.
I was certain you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
‘But miraculously you did, and we fell in love and got married – despite everyone warning us not to – and then I completely fucked it up.’
‘But it wasn’t just y—’
‘It was mostly me. And I want to fix that. If you’ll let me.
’ He looked down, shaking his head. ‘Seeing you on that island… it brought everything back and I thought I could handle it, be professional and just get on with the job but… I couldn’t bear the thought of being so close to you and not being with you, you know? ’
I nodded. Because I did know. It had been torture.
‘It was torture,’ he added, and I laughed at the uncanniness.
‘What’s funny?’ he asked with a gentle laugh.
‘Just… you read my mind again.’
We shared a smile.
‘Do you think we could try again?’ he asked, tightening his grip on my hands. ‘Do you want to try again?’
How could he ask that? Of course I did, but as full as my heart was, reality loomed, casting a deep shadow and giving me pause.
‘But, Tommy… how?’ I lifted my gaze and looked around at HQ to make my point.
‘I have no fucking idea,’ he replied, and my eyes shot back to his.
‘Well, at least you’re being honest about it.’
He shrugged, breaking into a smile. ‘We’re smart people, Ally. We’ll figure it out. But you still haven’t answered my question. Do you want to?’
I looked into Tommy’s eyes, seeing right into his soul, the soul of a man who had been my everything – my love, my best friend, my home. And I saw what I’d longed for – possibility and hope and dreams coming true.
But most of all, I saw love. True, happily-ever-after, Hollywood-ending love.
I was overcome with choking sobs and tears filled my eyes, spilling onto my cheeks. With a vigorous nod, I barely managed to gasp, ‘Yes.’
‘Oh, thank god.’
Then he captured my face in both hands and kissed me. And it was the most perfect, passionate, pure kiss that ever was.
I’m serious – Westley and Buttercup had nothing on us.